Bombs Bursting In Air
by SpiritoftheMapleLeaf
Summary: Short USUK or rather UKUS Oneshot written for our favorite American's birthday. It's July 4, and as America sits alone on his balcony watching the fireworks, he gets an unexpected visitor.


**A/N: I just finished lighting fireworks and thought, what the heck? Let's write a story. This literally was written in no time so sorry if it's cheesy. But I was just bored. HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA! :D**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not owned by me. So don't sue me.**

**Summary: Short USUK (or rather UKUS) Oneshot written for our favorite American's birthday. It's July 4, and as America sits alone on his balcony watching the fireworks, he gets an unexpected visitor.**

Bombs Bursting In Air

Splashes of colors engulf the black sky, changing the night into day. Red, white, blue. Red, white, blue. A particularly large rocket shoots up, and explodes into an American flag. Hundreds of people below gasp and clap.

America always enjoyed this one specific spot on his birthday. On a balcony of a rented room at a hotel, one that overlooked a park. This park always had a firework show, and this year it was absolutely dazzling. He sat comfortably on one of the chairs on the balcony, a massive pile of junk food on one side (because it wouldn't be American without it) and a box of sparklers on the other. Dozens of colors burst and blur into each other. Somewhere off in the distance speakers blare his national anthem, while the booms keep the Americans underneath them in awe. Yep, his birthday was pretty amazing.

If only he could keep his mind off of what his birthday really marked.

Independence. The start of a bitter Revolutionary War that ended badly whether it was victory or defeat. The anniversary of the day he left Britain. July 4 really held mixed emotions inside of him, and it was always hard when it came around. After all, he did lov—no, like England, so leaving him that one night was difficult. America suddenly wondered if his brother ever felt like this during his birthday. His marked the same thing, right? They were, after all, both former colonies of England. But Canada was far too laid back to ever fight for it. So it was just America then. Just America secretly feeling bad for leaving England.

Grrr, why did they have to declare Independence Day a national holiday? What idiot wanted that?

Oh wait, he did.

Damn it.

America grabbed an open bag of chips and shoveled the comfort food into his mouth. That was a little better. Maybe he could just watch the fireworks and stop thinking about his past.

"Knock knock." A familiar voice cut through the silence.

America twisted his head around. Standing at the balcony door barely illuminated by the bursts of light was Britain.

Britain.

Uh oh.

His hair was spiky and unruly, but blond like America's. His large eyebrows, which were normally furrowed, were light and relaxed. America couldn't help but notice his emerald eyes seemed to sparkle as the fireworks reflected off of them. A calm smile was on his face, and America felt himself shifting uncomfortably in his chair from it. Why did his expression make him so . . . flustered?

"Mind if I join you?" England asked.

"How did you know where I was?" America asked instead of answering.

England rolled his eyes, but brought a chair from the other side of the balcony and put it next to America's. He sat in it before replying. "Apparently you come to the same hotel every year. Your . . . friend told me this."

"Tony?"

"I think so."

American would have to have a talk with Tony, his alien friend who lived at his house. He was not supposed to tell anyone, especially Britain, where he went every Fourth of July.

"Well, how did you get in?" America frowned. What the heck was England doing here anyways?

"Because some idiot left their card key in their door." Britain pulled out the plastic card from his pocket and handed it to America.

America took it. "Whoops," he muttered.

England shook his head and turned his attention to the fireworks for a moment. A large rocket exploded into a fiery red blast and Britain blinked with awe. "You always find ways to make fireworks better every year, don't you?"

America smiled. "I gotta get the best for my birthday."

"Which reminds me." England pulled out a small cardboard box from his pocket. "Happy birthday." He tossed it to America.

America looked at the tiny box and slowly opened it. He pulled away the tissue paper and it revealed something America would never forget. A Swiss Army Knife. An American flag was painted to flow all around it on the surface. The small metal gadgets were neatly folded into it, and America pulled them all out one by one. A knife, corkscrew, nail file, tiny saws, scissors, and several other little blades all pulled out with ease. He put everything back in place. That's when he noticed the inscription on the side.

_Alfred F. Jones ~The United States of America_

On the other side was an even smaller blur of writing: _For the hero—Britain._

"Oh wow. This is so freakin' cool!" America said, his voice an octave higher than normal. Then he cleared his throat. "Um yeah. This is awesome."

"I'm glad you like it. Switzerland took a lot of convincing to do it since what happened last time he gave away a Swiss Army Knife. And it did cost a little more than expected for the engraving. But I think it was worth it." Britain nodded.

"Aw man. I haven't seen one of these in decades." America smiled, toying with the plastic toothpick located in its small compartment. "Thanks."

Britain nodded again.

America looked away from his gift for a second to notice that the Englishman's mood seemed to drop. "Dude, what's up?"

"I was just wondering. Today is your birthday. You probably could've done anything you wanted today. So why sit alone at this balcony?" England shrugged his shoulders.

America sighed. If he told England why he sat out here alone every year he'd probably laugh. "N-no reason." America smiled weakly. "Ahahaha! This just has a really good view!"

England raised an eyebrow. "That didn't sound sincere."

"Well it was!"

England stood up. He walked to the balcony and leaned against it, his back to America. "I know why you're upset."

America froze. He knew? "Um, you do?"

"That's the real reason why I came." England continued, ignoring America. "I came so that it wouldn't be so awkward every year on this day."

America felt his face heat up. "It's not awkward, I swear."

"Yes it is." Britain said with a slight nod. "It's always been awkward between us since that day. And I want you to know that I really don't care about the past."

America felt his breath quicken. He didn't care? "Um… okay."

"You're still not happy." Britain said, turning around. He walked to America's chair and at first he thought England was going to slap him. But then he straddled him and sat down on his lap. "What can I do to make you happy?" he whispered.

_Now _America's face was red. He wanted to tell England to get off of him. But he couldn't. It felt . . . alright with Britain on his lap. So instead of "Get off of me!" it came out more like "Um . . . uh . . . huh?"

"Shh." Britain put a finger to America's lips. "Just don't say anything." He put his hand to America's chin, tilting it slightly before pressing their lips together. Any thoughts at all were impossible for America, except for one: England faintly smelled of alcohol.

That was it then. Britain was drunk.

Shit.

This was not good. Britain never handled his alcohol well, and now . . .

He needed to do something.

Before America could react in any way though, England was moving again, placing light butterfly kisses on his neck, nipping teasingly. America knew this was wrong but _God_, he was slightly enjoying this.

Instinctively America threw his head back.

No, he was fully enjoying this.

But it was wrong. America shook his head and lightly pulled England away from him. "Iggy," he said, using the old nickname he'd made up long ago. "This doesn't feel right."

England frowned. A rather large firework exploded above them and now America saw it: his flushed face and glazed look in his eyes. "You don't love me," he whispered.

"What?" This was absurd. A drunk Britain finding him on this night? Not something he'd ever want to deal with.

"You always hated me after that day. Even though all I've always tried to do is make you see me." Tears were in his eyes. "I thought you were different."

Alfred shook his head. "No no no! Don't cry! Listen." He put his hands around Britain's face. "I . . . um, well, always did kinda like you, okay? I was just afraid of what you would say." Where were these words coming from? He never ever expected himself to say something like that. But he knew it was true the moment it passed his lips.

England looked at America with wide eyes, much like a child would to an adult. "Say it."

"Say what?"

"Say it. Say that you love me." England was practically whining now. "Please."

America took a deep breath. He wasn't sure where this was going, but he wasn't stopping now. "I love you."

Their lips touched again, light at first, but then more passionate. A frenzied rush of heat and lust enveloped America, and the intensity only grew with every passing second. America did nothing but revel in the pleasure of the Brit's mouth on his.

They broke apart a second later, and England sighed and rearranged himself so that he was curled up on America. Within minutes he was asleep with a light smile on his face.

America rolled his eyes. He moved his hands underneath the Englishman and gently lifted him. He carried him to the bed in the hotel room, tucking him in like a child, and lightly kissed his forehead. America would have to sleep on the couch but it would be all right, a night like this was rare. A night where he might've just gotten what he wanted.

..~xThisIsAPageBreakx~..

The next morning Alfred sat on the balcony, sipping from a cup of coffee. Another cup laid beside him, patiently waiting for its consumer.

It wasn't too long before he woke up. He moaned and cursed about the light, but ceased when he came to the balcony. "Alfred." England spoke. "What are you doing here? And where on earth am I?"

"You showed up last night at my hotel room drunk. Do you remember?"

Britain shook his head. "I'm afraid not. But my head feels like someone drove a knife through it so I guess it's true." He sat down in the chair, the one he had pulled up next to America last night. "Did I do anything stupid?"

"No." America lied. He gave the cup lying next to him to the Englishman, who eagerly took it and sighed with relief.

"Good. But I did give you your gift, right?" America nodded. Britain bit his lip. "I'm sorry if I wrecked your birthday."

"No you didn't." America shrugged it off.

"So you still enjoyed it?"

America smiled knowingly at his coffee cup. "Yeah. I did."

**A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA! I LOVE YOU BRO!**

**Hey, drop a review for me you guys, alright? Alright. Good.**


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